


Tred Lightly into the Arms of Gods

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Cunnilingus, Elder God, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-14
Updated: 2012-06-14
Packaged: 2019-09-16 05:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16948191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: Illyria tires of Spike's boasting.





	Tred Lightly into the Arms of Gods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [philstar22](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=philstar22).



> This is for **philstar22** , who requested some Spillyria. Uh... back in May. But lo! I have overcome my insurmountable laziness... er, I mean...
> 
> No, that's what I mean. Here it is! Better late than never? It's pretty much Spike and Illyria pwp!
> 
> Just re-posting this from Nekid Spike. Not happy with the title, which I sorta came up with as I was posting. I thought maybe about changing it to "Do not give dating advice to gods."

Spike was feeling pretty good, in that delicate, temporary way only alcohol can provide, and the buxom brunette next to him at the bar – Bunny or Bonny or something like that - was hanging on his every word. He was feeling as warm and light as the pulse in the hollow of her neck and was increasingly wondering why he didn’t just kiss the hell out of that. “So, pet, what do you say we get out of here?”

The woman licked her lips and parted them, about to answer, when an imperious, cold voice ripped right through the warmth and the song from the juke-box.

“You are MY pet and may not have pets of your own.”

With a groan, Spike turned his barstool to face Illyria. “Hello, buzzkill.”

Bonny-something pointed from Illyria to Spike. “Wait, are you guys, like, together?”

“No, love. She’s just a royal pain in my arse.”

Illyria cocked her head. “Your insubordination grows tiresome. You will return with me now. I desire to throw you against walls.”

Bonny-something slipped right off her bar stool. “Yeah, I’m out of here.”

“No, Bon- Bun- Love. Wait…”

She shook her head and dodged his reach. “Really not into submissive guys.”

“But I’m not…” Spike glared at Illyria. “Thanks. Now my balls match your hair.”

She of course looked down at his crotch. “I do not understand the…”

“It’s a metaphor, Blue, a cultural metaphor for being cock-blocked.” At her bird-like look of inquiry, he stepped close and lowered his voice. “I don’t know how they did it in the primordium, your godness, but lowly creatures like us get to needing each other’s company once in a while and it really pisses us off when we’re interrupted.”

Illyria blinked owlishly. “You cannot mate with a human woman. She should find you repugnant. You are a corpse.”

“I’ll have you know I am one gorgeous hunk of dead flesh. You’d realize that if you had gonads, yourself.”

Illyria looked down at herself. “I am not incomplete.”

“Christ. Forget it. I’ve got more important things to do than teach you about lady-parts. I’m sobering up.” He leaned over the bar and tried desperately to get the bartender’s attention.

“It is irrelevant. I am not female. Nor are you male.”

“Oi! I’ll grant your godliness has some gender confusion issues, but trust me, I’m as male as they come.”

“I am aware you choose to protest penetration because you view it as the female role.”

“Gah! What – who…” Spike finally realized that this conversation was best had NOT in public and took hold of Illyria’s arm, leading her out. “You have no idea what you are talking about.”

Illyria stepped forward out of Spike’s hold without having the grace to make it look remotely hard to do so. “With regret, I do.”

They were at least out on the street. “You snuck into the security office, didn’t you?”

“I merely had the misfortune of possessing functioning ears.”

“Fine. One time it happened. No need to broadcast it to the…”

“I have been in possession of functioning ears for longer than a week.”

He was almost distracted by pride that Illyria was being properly sarcastic. It was good she hung around him and Wes; maybe they could even get her to start pronouncing things correctly.

As it was, he had to stay on task. He put his hand on her hard leather shoulder and lowered his voice, “Look, Leery, some things we don’t talk about, all right? Or we do, but we whisper it and everyone pretends they don’t hear.”

She looked him up and down slowly and then turned, walking purposefully back toward Wolfram and Hart. “You will come to the sparring room now.”

“The hell! I’ve got drinking to do.”

She returned and picked him up by his shirt-front. “If Angel ever wished to keep you in concubinage, it was a mistake. You are uniquely ill-suited to it.”

“I’ll have you know I’m… wait, not sure I want to disagree with that.” And Spike kicked her hard in the chest, freeing himself and tearing his shirt to tatters in the process.

The trick to fighting Illyria was not to care how much you battered yourself in the process. He rolled back to standing just in time to have to duck a tiny (painful) blue fist.

She was fast – she wasn’t always, probably felt she didn’t need to be, but a blur of blue hit him again and knocked him into a light pole that rang and vibrated from the impact. His vision hadn’t cleared but he gripped worn, painted metal and swung himself around, feet first into his opponent. His knees jarred with the impact and he laughed because he felt her give way, slightly.

A few seconds later he was slammed into brickwork that had an ornamental ledge at about kidney-height that made being slammed into the wall less pleasant than it usually was. Illyria glared at him. “You disobey. This is unsatisfactory.”

Spike pressed his hips forward and leered. “As I was saying, could satisfy you if you gave it half a chance.”

Illyria tilted her head, studying him like a specimen – quite literally pinned. Then she nodded. “Very well.”

Spike stumbled as she dropped him. “Wot?”

“You may demonstrate your pleasuring abilities. I will judge if they are adequate.”

Spike blinked twice more, giving her time to say “just kidding”, then realized how absurd that would sound, coming from Illyria’s mouth. “Right,” he said, straightening. “Then I really need another drink.”

Illyria simply said, “You do not,” and set off walking back to Wolfram and Hart.

It wasn’t like Spike was expecting some romance from the blue meanie, but he was completely nonplussed, watching her walk away. Also, he was devastatingly sober.

She didn’t take it well when he went back into the bar and so he got to travel back to Wolfram and Hart over her shoulder. At least he’d snagged a bottle to carry with.

In the comforting confines of the sparring room, Illyria dropped him on his ass. “You brag of your ability to give pleasure. You will demonstrate, and boast no more.”

Spike sprawled on his back, checking that the bottle was intact and finding to his dismay that it was Absolut Citron. Ah well, any port in a storm. He twisted the cap off and took a swig. “You going to give me something to work with, Blue?”

She tilted her head and like a whisper her clothing faded away. “You are the one who must be judged.”

Spike didn’t quite hear that, as he was staring at the sudden display of nude femininity in front of him. “Damn. You’re a fast date.”

“I grow bored,” she said.

So Spike took another fortifying sip of awful orange flavored vodka and got up on his knees to survey the lay of the land. His hands ghosted up blue-tinted hips. “Is everything factory-spec in here?” When his only answer was another owlish look of contempt, he added, “You might want to spread your legs a bit.”

“Why?”

“So I can get at your clit, you daft goddess.”

“What is this thing you speak of?”

Spike smiled for the first time. “Oh, Blue. This is going to be an honor.”

He licked his fingertip with slow relish and carefully explored the blue-tinted hairs before him. He unerringly found what he was looking for and a very gentle caress resulted in Illyria kneeing him in the jaw and jumping back five feet.

Spike’s head rang, but he cackled with delight. “God-king, meet nerve-ending.”

Illyria looked slightly panicked, her hands out at her sides and looking down her body. “That was unexpected,” she said.

Spike blinked and affected an innocent look. “Well, if it bothers you, we don’t have to continue.”

Illyria stalked up to him with an imperious glare. “Do not dare to imply that anything is beyond my capability.”

“Heaven forbid.” Spike ran his hand up the back of Illyria’s leg. “Let’s try that again, without the kicking me across the room, yeah?”

“I promise nothing.”

“Yeeeaah,” Spike exhaled slowly, settling in between her legs. “That’s what I like about you.” He drew the side of his hand through her curls, feeling a touch of moisture now. He spread her gently and lapped at the tip of her clit, which was still covered by its hood, itself tinted indigo against the fleshy pink of her labia. Convenient color-coding. He’d have to write a thank you to the Powers.

He was mesmerized by the colors of her, and spent some time just playing around, tasting different patches of skin to see if the color made a difference, admiring his white fingers against her as he worked them in.

Illyria was quiet and stoic, for the most part, but he felt a shiver run through her as he brushed his teeth over her nub, pushing the hood back and just breathing on it first before he took a long, leisurely lick that had her knees wobbling. He cupped his hands behind her thighs, ready when she let him take some of her weight. Like clockwork, it was, unwinding the goddess. He felt her relaxing and opening, her shivers and quakes becoming more frequent. She fisted his hair, fingers hard and tight against him. He forgot a bit that this was a god-king, a strange, otherworldly creature inhabiting the body of his dead friend. (And what would Fred say about all this?) She might be a male-identifying terrifying creature of the primordium, but she tasted sweet and silky and warm, like any woman, and she was trying to push him into her head-first and he wouldn’t have minded a bit if it were physically possible.

He shifted her back against the wall and eased her quivering knees over his shoulders. He nuzzled deep and felt a light pattering of plaster. That didn’t bother him, but the sound of splintering wood did, so he growled low in his throat, though that only seemed to increase the destruction of the wall.

Oh well, in for a penny.

He lashed at her with increasing violence, wringing cries and thrashing from her until her legs straightened, hard and tight and he thought he might be about to be decapitated or pass out or both – and the wall collapsed.

He looked down at a sprawled, satiated, and very debauched hell god. Her limbs were all splayed loose, her hair tousled in her face. Her skin was flushed dark indigo. “Gorgeous,” Spike said, and coughed a bit on the dust rising around them. His neck also felt like it was going to need some serious r&r. He wondered how far away the vodka had gotten. He started to turn backwards, needing a good regroup and whistle-wetting before he got around to convincing the blue meanie that one good turn deserved another.

And a hard hand closed on his wrist and a cold, imperious voice stated, “You will do that again.”

Her hold was firm and unrelenting. “Uh… just want a drink, first. Think I dried out my salivary glands there.”

“Now.”

Spike looked back at the discarded vodka bottle and felt her fingers tighten to the point of grinding his wrist bones. He shifted closer to her. “You know, love, there are other things I can do, just as pleasurable.”

“Excellent,” she said, releasing his wrist and laying back down. “You will do them.”

Spike heaved a relieved sigh. Then she added, “But this again, first. Now.”

He crawled forward until his head was over her stomach. “I don’t suppose I can at least get a ‘you were right’ before I enter my erotic servitude?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I have recently become aware that your mouth has infinitely better use than spewing insolent remarks. Cease to do so.”

He took that as a “no”.


End file.
